Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1887-11-20
MINING CAMP POST.OFgICr.
Tired Wen WALK MILES Through
know for Letters from Home.

Denver correspondence Of Kansas city journal
it was Sunday evening in n western
mining town, and the boys were all IN
from the ncighboring camps end foot
hills 10 get their mail. 1t had been a
cold. cherries. wintry day, but what Of
that? No matter now hard the storm
and chilly the blast, the postollice IN
a mining region Is a kind OF Mecca 10
which all eyes turn and all trails lead ON
Sunday. Many a time has miner gone
ten and fifteen miles 10 the nearest post
Office in tho hope Of getting letter
Possibly a lode was not looking very well
that week, and the hope q receiving a
letter was about the only thing THAT was
cheering him NJ.
Strange, isn't it, how man Will 90 to
the post-0hice week after week, and
though getting nothing, viii just rs CON
fiently expect something the ncXt mail
as trough b. hadn't been waiting IN vain,
possibly for months ? There are hun
dreds there waiting for the opening Of
the post Office. and fall into two long
lines. which reach far outiutO tine street.
II is a motley crowd, and in those lines
Won sac men whose locks are ms white
as the silyrrv snow that j. falling on
them mcu III the prime Of lie. hale
and vigorous, and others. almost boys,
all anxious for the same thing letter
or even "A paper FROM home. And in that
line Won will see women-nOt wives ana
mothers, for the camp Is new one, Dut
women Of the town-and they, too, are
hopeful of receiving letter from some
one. From whom They only know,
but possibly from loved ones 40 home,
who know not the kind of lie they are
leading, for such instances are old Sto-
ries in the mining camps.
Anything Tor me " Is the oft
repeated question. And see each one
intensely watch the clerk hastily ran
through the As or BIS or C's, etc, for
the name.
"No. sir,
"Nothing ?"
Nothing
These arc the answers most frequently
heard, and every time it is given sad
and care-worn face turns away from the
window Look at his face, for II tell,
rs own story. And sometimes ho will
a,k the clerk tolook again. for he almost
,uows there must be- something for MIN.
Nothing" again is the reply. The
niles of tru ;ging through the snow over
the rough mountain trails had been III
VAIN. Blue and discouraged he may be
found drunk in dance-hall that night
| wonder if some eastern home had
thoncht of it in that light. There Is
Young fellow. See, he smiles, too. His
Letter is fat one. Three stamps on it.
The address is q woman's handwriting.
Now he gets oil in Il corner and stands
so no one can look over his shouider, and
reads. That letter is from his girl, and
ITS contents he only Will know. That
weather-bcaten face OF his lights up rs
bright as May morning.
Nowhere are letters more appreciated
than in the mining camps Men out
West. amid It's exciting scenes, find It
irksome to pick up a pen. They ike
the pick and shovel. hammer and drill
better and yet they are just as eager to
receive letters. They read and rerrad
them by their cabin fires far up amid the
mountain peaks Out on the cattle trails
the cowboys will often carry letters in
their pockets and reread them on their
long drives from Texas to Montana.
Down in the mines, far under the
around, in the tunnels, drifts. cross-cuts,
they will pull out old home letters, and
by the Pickering light of the lamps in
their hats reread them. And while
fathers and mothers are often wondering
why sons do not write their boys are
eagerly looking for q letter. and are re-
reading the last one over and overagain.